


It's A Man: A Series of Hancock Drabbles

by Biggreenfeet



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Complete, Drabbles, F/M, Romance, linear, little slow burn in there, oh god i wrote smut, tame smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5356136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biggreenfeet/pseuds/Biggreenfeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hancock mini-stories wrapped in the attractive packaging of "It's a Man" by Cy Coban (Sung by Betty Hutton). I had fun writing different pieces of his history. I tried to keep stuff classy. The work is complete.</p><p>Kind-of proofread. Sorry for any errors.</p><p>Background: I got tired of waiting to write him in the long fic I am writing, so you get this for now instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Man: A Series of Hancock Drabbles

**It’s a Man:**

**A Series of Hancock Drabbles**

 

_Girls! Girls!_

_Watch out! Watch out!_

_There's a two legged animal running about_

 

John McDonough was a playboy. He knew how to talk his way into and out of anything and everything that struck his fancy. He needed only to bat his storm-grey eyes and run a hand through his tousled sandy-colored locks, and he’d have his way. He’d charmed his way through the women of Diamond City, making a game of it.

 

His brother’s jaw dropped as he dropped the woman’s filthy note in front of him, a grin on his dapper face. “But John, Mrs. Carnegie is _married_. Her husband’s gonna kick your ass when he finds out!”

 

John put an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, patting his chest with the opposite hand. “ _If_ he finds out.” The look in his eyes dared his elder sibling to disagree.

 

“ _John_ …” His voice was stern, warning. “You know you can’t just go fucking every woman-”

 

The younger McDonough held a hand up, interrupting. “Sure I can. Who’s gonna say no to this mug?” He pointed a finger at his charming features, winking.

 

“How am I supposed to run for office if you’re fucking the wives of my constituents?” His face was turning red in irritation.

 

John put up both hands in a placating gesture. “Ok, _ok_. I’ll just apply my animal magnetism to the… _unattached_.”

 

The elder McDonough rolled his eyes. “Number one, just because she tells you she and her husband are _separated_ doesn’t mean she’s unattached.” He spat the last word, hands balling into fists at his sides. “And _secondly_ ,” the red had reached his forehead,” have you been at the Mentats again?”

 

John gave him his best puppy-dog eyes. “Why would you ask me that?” His face fell into a still-handsome pout.

“ _Animal magnetism_? You don’t even know what the hell that is!” the would-be mayor threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

 

“They make me feel intellectual, what’s so bad about that?” he flopped himself into a grimy chair, picking errantly at his fingernails.

 

“You know I have everything riding on this election, John.” His tone was serious. “Now can you just sit there and listen to my plan? It’s gonna guarantee my success.” His dark eyes glimmered dangerously in the low light.

 

“What are you planning, Brother Dear?” he batted his eyes mockingly, resting his face in his hands.

 

“We’re gonna kick those damned dirty ghouls out of this city.”

 

John’s comely features dropped along with his stomach. “You can’t do that- Those _people_ are our neighbors!” He mentally counted the number of ghouls living in Diamond City, until it was too much. A hand ran skittishly through his cowlick, and his mouth had gone dry.

 

The mile-long smile on his brother’s face was unnerving. “It’s going to secure the Upper Stands vote. Diamond City is going to be _mine_.” Something in his voice had changed, and John felt his insides burning with apprehension.

 

He turned suddenly, gripping his younger sibling by his collar, and drawing John’s fair face down to meet his gaze. Dark eyes bore into him. “Don’t get in my way, or I swear I’ll have your ass tossed in with those filthy _zombies_ when we run them outta town.” He spat the insult, the tiny droplets hitting John’s cheek.

 

The stylish junkie ripped himself from his brother’s grasp, wiping the spittle from his cheek with the back of his sleeve. “Fuck you.” He turned on his heel, stalking out of the room. _I need a pick me up._ His hands were digging in his pockets, frantic fingers searching for the chems that would make him forget…

 

 

_If it smokes a great big cigar_

_and it hangs around at a bar_

_if it tells the biggest lies, wears the loudest ties_

_it's a man_

 

The third rail was mostly empty for the evening, but Magnolia was still crooning away for the patrons trying to drown their sorrows. He blew a cloud of smoke from his ruined nose, eyes following the curves of her body in the scintillating red dress she wore every now and then. She could feel his eyes on her, crooning about taking a dip in Swan’s pond.

 

The cravat had taken some getting used to, and he’d kept it loose around his neck, tucking the ends into the velvet brocade of his waistcoat. He liked the heft and softness of the velvet across his shoulders. It made him feel authoritative, in charge. _I’m the god-damned mayor of this town._ He flashed a cocky smile to no one in particular, tilting the brim of the tricorn up with a parched thumb. He was extremely pleased with himself for finally ridding the town of Goodneighbor of their tyrannical dictator, and carving out a haven for the freaks of the wasteland.

 

The ghoul-turned-mayor took another drag, blowing the smoke skyward to join the rest of the haze. Magnolia cast her baby blue eyes his direction, running her hands over her curves seductively. The neon open sign glowed behind her, making the sequins on her dress twinkle with each roll of her hips. He flicked the butt at the ground, and pulled a battered metal tin from his pocket. Fingers traced over the raised label, the statesman never taking his eyes off of the performer. He placed a few chalky red pills under his tongue, waiting for the Mentats to take effect.

 

She finished her set as he was riding the intellectual high. His pupils were wide, and there was a cocksure grin on his face as she sauntered towards him.

“You look like you could use a pick-me-up.” His voice was smooth, and he slid the open tray towards her.

 

She leaned over the table, closing the tray with a satin-gloved finger. “Would you like to pick _me_ up?” her words were breathy, and she slid her pointer under his chin.

 

“You know me doll, of the people, _for the people_.”

 

She lead him by the hand to the back room, the Casanova swinging the door closed with a boot as his hands wrapped around her narrow waist.

 

_If it acts just like a crossed patch_

_Has a face with whiskers that scratch_

_If it's stubborn as can be, mean and ornery_

_It's a man_

 

“C’mon man, this is _me_ we’re talking about. Let me tell you something.”

 

He made to place a hand on the man’s shoulder, while the other snaked to the back of his colonial trousers. It was instant- the blade reflected the low light and plunged into Finn’s guts once, then again.

 

“Why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breaking my heart over here.” His eyes meet hers. “You alright, sister?”

 

Nora stood, eyes narrowed. They swept his features, and she felt the familar pinprick of panic that she’d come to associate with the radioactive undead that attacked people in the wasteland. “You- you’re a Ghoul?” Her brow was furrowed, and she still held the pistol in front of her.

 

“That’s right. Like my face? I think it gives me a sexy, king of the zombies kinda look.” He eyed her up and down. “Big hit with the ladies.”

 

No trace of amusement played on her features, her left brow cocked like a gun ready to fire.

 

“Listen,” he pulled out a faded pack of cigarettes and a flip lighter from his ridiculous pockets. “Lot of walking rad freaks like me around here, so you might want to keep those kinds of questions on the low burner next time.” He clasped the cigarette with his mouth, bringing the lighter to it, and closing it with a metallic click.

 

He breathed a cloud of smoke into the chilly evening air. “Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people, you feel me?” His eyes were hard. “Everyone’s welcome here.”

 

 _“Whether you like it or not,”_ she finished mentally.

 

“Of the people, for the people?” was what she said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. Nora had dealt with his type before. John Hancock was the kind of guy who thought his charisma paid the fare for his egocentric conduct. She wanted him to know that his suave routine wasn’t impressive.

 

Much to her chagrin, he was chuckling at her. “I can tell I’m going to like you already.” His black eyes met her eyes with startling confidence, and his voice was velvet. “Just consider this town your home away from home.”

 

Nora could swear he’d _winked_ at her before his coattails had swirled away from her.

 

“So long as you remember who’s in charge,” He tossed the warning over his shoulder, and she felt her stomach knot. _Not a man you want to cross_.

 

 

_It if walks, if it talks_

_If its habits are a little bit peculiar_

_If it brags and tries to make you think it's wonderful_

_Be on the lookout, don't let it fool ya_

 

Hancock was leaning against the far wall in his office, arms crossed over his chest. He eyed Nora as she entered, meeting her steel gaze.

 

“How’s Bobbi’s little patsy?” an amused smirk played on his face, and he shifted his feet, resting a boot against the wall. He dug in a pocket, tossing a pouch at her. She caught it with a jingle, a silent question on her face.

 

“For protecting my stash.” An index finger pushed at the front corner of the tricorn, the warm tungsten reflected in his black eyes. “Wise decision turning on Bobbi like that.”

 

 _He moves like a cat_. Her left brow cocked and she sucked the air through her teeth. “Not like I had a choice.” The sole survivor was still angry about being duped by the noseless woman. She was better at reading people than that, and hot anger seethed in her guts when she thought about the store room and Farenheit’s look of amusment.

 

He was enjoying poking at her. “That’s the best part about being the mayor, always the safe bet.” He flashed her an arrogant grin.

 

Her face was stone. She wasn’t going to let him prod her into reacting.

 

He felt a tug of guilt at rubbing her misstep in her face, and his haunted features softened.

 

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. _Is he really asking me if I think he’s a tyrant_? _What the hell is this about_? She hadn’t expected this sort of honesty to come pouring off of his silver tongue. It made her suspicious.

 

The Ghoul seemed to be staring past her, clearing his conscience. “I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what really matters.”

 

 _Family? A home?_ She was only half-paying attention, trying to figure out her next move in her quest to find her son.

 

“Living free.” There was a smile on his face, his gaze far away.

 

“Can you just leave Goodneighbor? Aren’t you the _mayor_?” she scoffed, tapping her fingers against her arms.

 

“Mayor’s still the Mayor whether he’s in residence or not.” He ignored her disdain. “I can’t let power get to my head. That’s not what being in charge of Goodneighbor is about.” He looked at her expectantly.

 

“What?” She was waiting for the punchline. “You want to travel with me or something?” The whole conversation was absurd. _How can you govern a town if you weren’t there to govern it?_

Hancock grinned at her, acting as if she’d asked him in earnest. “Yeah. I like it. You might just be the right kind of trouble.” There was a look of something else in his eyes, but she couldn’t read him. He was too slippery- one minute he was goading her, the next pouring his guts out. The term _bipolar_ came to mind.

 

“Let me just have a little chat with my community first.” He was grandstanding.

 

She stifled a laugh. _He’s certainly having fun with this farce._

 

The smirk on her face disappeared as he slipped through the door to his balcony. She could hear him make the announcement through splintered wood, and over to sit on the couch, rubbing her face.

 

_Surely he wasn’t serious?_

 

 

_But if it makes the moon up on high,_

_more than just a light in the sky_

_If it kisses you and you find you like it too_

_GRAB IT! It's a man_

The past few months they’d spent on the road hadn’t been at all what she’d expected. In Goodneighbor, he’d been all braggadocio, marching around and monologuing. “Of the people, for the people!” And then there were the benefits of being mayor of the heathens. Nora had a difficult time believing any of it was genuine, and not just a gimmick to win the hearts of the wayward citizens. She’d found his costume ridiculous, from the brass buckles on his boots, to the tip of the worn leather tricorn atop his rotten head.

 

Once he’d gotten away from the city, the pretensions had melted away and she was left with just Hancock. _“You know you can call me John, right?”_ he’d asked her after they’d bailed each other out of countless firefights. She’d felt it too intimate, and did everything short of outright refusing to continue calling him Hancock. She’d played it off like a game.

 

_“I’m just used to calling you Hancock.”_

 

 _“_ You’re _the one that introduced yourself that way.”_

And her favorite, _“Did I call you Hancock again? Sorry. Forgot.”_

 

They’d fallen into an easy rapport, and the widow had come to trust him in her own way. He didn’t try to pry into her secrets, listening to her when she did make the choice to open up. She’d found herself thinking in quiet moments _Nate would have liked him._

 

He would trip up sometimes, letting the flirtations pass through his lips with a cheeky grin.

 

 _“Harmless_ flirtations,”he’d told himself _._

 

Part of him hated the way his stomach flopped when she smiled at them, thinking he hadn’t seen her. The other was happy to watch her out of the corner of each eye without her noticing.

 

“You know we figure out how to turn you into a ghoul and we can do this long term. Somethin’ to think about.” His latest jest had been an unintended double-entendre.

 

A slight smile met her lips, and he’d found himself staring. He should have known better, but it wasn’t in his nature to listen to good sense. He imagined the soft pink of her mouth pressed against his, the way he’d pull her body to him, gripping her hips with eager hands. The softness of her skin-

 

He cursed himself silently, falling into step beside her, the sun just beginning to drop past the horizon.

 

 

_If it whistles each time you pass,_

_Owns a car that runs out of gas,_

_Then it's time that you get hip, better watch your step_

_It's a man_

 

Nora had gotten used to the ghoul’s bawdy sense of humor. She’d even found herself firing back or playing along from time to time. He was a lady-killer, there was no way around it. Her initial reservations about travelling with him had slowly pealed away, making room for authentic interactions between the travellers.

 

“You don’t actually think the clothes of John Hancock spoke to you, right?” She looked at him sideways.

 

The quip was unexpected, and he stumbled over his words. “Nah, I just felt, you know, a connection.” Their eyes met for a moment, and she got the distinct sense he was talking about something else. He cleared his throat. “Seemed like he and I were dealing with the same shit: serious oppression.”

 

She nodded, letting him finish the story. There was something important to him about sharing these memories with her, but she couldn’t quite grasp why he’d decided to open up. It seemed out of character for the playboy to open up like that, and she felt a pang of guilt at thinking of him as a caricature. He’d continued his story, gestures animated and full of feeling. Then he reached the part of the story about the previous mayor’s unfortunate end.

 

His relish of violence and vengeance scared her. It struck to close to home, threatening to unbury the rage that she’d shoved deep down. Part of her was jealous of the easy way he embraced barbarism, his ethical spectrum black and white.

 

 _“_ And from then on, I vowed that I’d never stand by and watch. Ever again.”

 

_But then he says shit like that._

 

“I ain’t out to bring harm to anyone that didn’t earn it.” His tone was earnest, a trademark flirtatious smile playing on face. “Though I’m getting the distinct idea you got the same plan.”

 

As if sensing her bristling, he changed the subject. “Well, you probably heard enough of me running my mouth for one day. Wanna get moving?” his hand was on the pack.

 

She hated the way he seemed to be able to read her. His charismatic nature got under her skin, loosening the iron grip she’d desperately tried to keep on her feelings.

 

Nora shook her head. “It’s almost dark. Might as well camp out here for the night.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, sister.” His hand was already digging the Mentats from his jacket pocket.

 

 

_If it acts just like it's the boss_

_when it knows that you are, of course_

_If it gets a little rough, thinks it's very tough_

_It's a man_

 

Hancock found himself analyzing her, a wayward mouthful of Mentats crunching between his teeth. He understood keeping things to himself. His mind often drifted back to the events that had gotten him to this point, and he’d decided to share some of them with her. He wasn’t sure why.

 

There were times when he’d certainly wanted to pry- but it was mostly for selfish reasons. The ghoul watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she slept, grateful for the mind-boosting power of drugs. They made him more alert. _Less apt to do something stupid_. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t stop his mind from wandering to strange, indecent places. _She’s a widow lookin’ for her kid, you dirty bastard._ He slumped in the chair, lighting a cigarette to help pass the time. _But god damn if she doesn’t mess with my head._ He inhaled deeply, blowing a trail of smoke into the darkness, and reflecting on the day.

 

_“You got nothing to worry about with me covering ya.” He grinned his cocky grin, gripping the shotgun and stepping over the oversized chunks of rock._

_She’d rolled her eyes, something more than exasperation playing behind them. They grew wide, and he turned, hearing the slowly beeping cadence in the distance. Fear prickled inside his irradiated guts, and he’s scanned the horizon._

_“Where the hell is it?” She held the rifle battle-ready, the barrel swinging with her body._

_His heart leapt into his throat as he watched the telltale green of the Super Mutant’s head bob closer as it bounded up the rocks. He unloaded the double chamber in the direction, but it did little to slow the hulking figure at that distance._

_She was squinting through the circular scope, and squeezing the trigger almost frantically. Both knew the outcome if the mammoth kamikaze wasn’t put down in the next few yards._

_The beeping was coming faster, and he hastily reloaded the double chambers, cocking the shotgun and taking aim. The thunderclap of the buckshot leaving the chamber was eclipsed by the resulting explosion. The shockwave knocked him off of his feet, and he landed hard on his backside, wind knocked from him. He shook his head to clear his vision, eyes wide with surprise._

_The mutant’s head exploded, showering him with blood and brain matter. He rolled into a sitting position, looking down the barrel and meeting her gaze. Relief played across her features, and she lowered the rifle._

_“I think brain matter is a good look for you.” There was an impish grin plastered on her face._

_He spat the muck away from his mouth. “It accentuates my eyes.” He climbed to his feet, gripping her proffered hand. She’d tugged him at the same time he pushed off, and they’d been face to face. She’d reached out, wiping the excess dreck from his mouth with a thumb, her fingers lingering on his chin._

_“I guess it does,” she finished lamely, dropping her hand and turning to grab the rucksack._

_“Next time I get to save your ass, ok? That was downright embarrassing. Gonna make people question my manliness or something.”_

 

_“I seriously doubt that, Hancock.” She still refused to call him John._

_“You sayin’ you still want a piece of this?”_

_She chuckled and shook her head. He’d wondered how she could be so immune to his charms._

 

At some point during his reminiscing, Hancock had fallen asleep, the tricorn hat dipping over his eyes.

 

 

_It if walks, if it talks_

_If its habits are a little bit peculiar_

_If it brags and tries to make you think it's wonderful_

_Be on the lookout, don't let it fool ya_

 

“You know what the Glowing Sea needs?” he didn’t wait for her to guess. “A bar.”

 

Nora knew what he was doing.

 

_He’d picked up on her apprehension back at the Red Rocket while she tinkered on the hulking power armor on the lift. She figured Hancock could understand being wary of the effects of massive radiation exposure, and had confided her anxiety._

_Without thinking, he’d laid his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze. His fingers had been rough to the touch, but warm._

_“It’s not all bad y’know. Don’t forget about the immortality bit.” She had cracked a smile, rubbing her thumb over the top of his hand, her mind elsewhere._

_“You know you’re gonna find him.” The ghoul refrained from saying the boy’s name. He’d seen the way it pained her on the rare occasions she let the raw grief surface. That look twisted his guts around. He tried not to think about what it meant._

_Her eyes were far away, and she let the heavy metal tool drop from her hand, the sound rattling his teeth._

_“Am I?” the voice was bitter. “Because we’ve been wandering this fucking wasteland for months. Every time I feel like we’re getting close, it’s just another dead end.” She pulled her hand away, balling it into a fist, making to slam it into the power armor. A rugged hand caught her by the wrist._

_“You know you don’t wanna go bustin’ up your power armor, doll.” His words were gentle._

_She was angry. “Don’t tell me what I want, Hancock!” she yanked her arm free, practically jumping to her feet, and stalked away. His name was like a slap._

_She’d been evasive all day, and his patience had worn thin. He followed her into the makeshift house, around the counter that they used like a kitchen table, and into the tiny bedroom._

_“Look sister, I ain’t in the habit of taking this much shit off nobody, so you’d better give me a damned good reason to stick around here with all your crazy.”_

_Her face was fury, but her voice was deadly quiet. “There’s the door.”_

_John let his temper get the better of him. “Fine. I’m outta here.” Had there been a door on the exterior, he’d have slammed it till it rattled off of the frame. Instead he made due with stomping outside, seething._

_Once he was outside, she’d let the tears fall, soaking her pillow. She pressed the pillow against her mouth to muffle the sobs, and cried until she’d fallen asleep, eyes red and inflamed._

_A withered hand reached out, stroking her back in small circles. “I guess I’m not the only one who runs from things.” His whisper filled the room, and he sighed, enjoying the smoothness of her skin._

_Thoughts of intimate acts came unbidden to his mind, and he pulled his hand away, fixing the hem of her shirt with care. He mentally chided himself, brushing a piece of hair away from her face. How many nights had he watched her sleep and wondered._

_He rubbed his face with both hands, feeling foolish. “You know the score, John. No one wants to wake up to that ugly mug.” His internal dialogue was not kind._

_She stirred, wrapping an arm around his waist. “John.”_

_He jumped at the sound of his name, and the pressure at his waist._

_“Yeah?” his brain wasn’t functioning well enough to quip._

_“I’m sorry.” She was hugging him awkwardly around the middle, her usual defensiveness abandoned for the sake of comfort._

_“Hey, don’t worry about it. Sometimes I need somebody to force fresh air on me.”_

_Quiet descended on the room again. After a while, her breathing had deepened and slowed. She was asleep or nearly there._

_“I’m lonely.” He couldn’t tell if she’d been talking in her sleep or trying to tell him something. He sat for a good while, finally unwinding her arm from his middle, moving to the single chair in the room and watching her sleep._

“You’re just the entrepreneur to bring such a fine establishment to this hellhole.” Her voice came through the helmet’s receiver clearly.

 

“We’d cater to a certain crowd if you know what I mean.”

 

She chuckled, disappearing into the sickly green of the Glowing Sea.

 

 

 

_But if it's kneelin' down on one knee_

_Sayin' darling please marry me_

_Then don't hesitate, better name the date and then_

_GRAB IT!_

_HOLD IT!_

_HANG ONTO IT! For It's a man_

“I feel damn lucky to have you as a friend.” They were sitting on the rocky wall near the lighthouse, debating on a plan of action while Diamond City Radio played in the background. Tinker Tom had said the platform would be operational in a day’s time, and she’ be launching herself into the Institute. Alone. The thought bothered her more than it should have.

 

“Is that what we are? Friends?” There was something else to her voice, but he shrugged it off.

 

“Well,” he said in his best cocky Casanova voice, “Now that you mention it, I have been having slightly more impure thoughts than usual. Maybe we’ll get to…act on those. Heh.” He’d said more than he’d meant to, stumbling over the words.

 

She turned to him, her face serious. “We have no idea what I’ll be walking into tomorrow. If I don’t make it back-” she’d let her guard down with him again, and he still wasn’t sure what it meant. He felt like a bumbling teenager again.

 

Hancock’s voice was smooth. “It’s gonna be one hell of a show when you zap yourself up there. I’m expecting the full story when you get back, complete with sound effects and everything.”

 

She smiled in spite of herself. How did he do that? The sole survivor had let her guard down with him over time, and it was complicating things. She think about Nate, a fog of guilt clouding her judgment. Whenever this happened, her fingers would find their way to the silver chain around her neck, fidgeting with the gold band.

 

Hancock had picked up on it, and would normally leave her to her thoughts, He moved to get up, her fingers running the gold hoop back and forth along the tarnishing chain. She reached out a hand, resting it on his wrist, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Please stay with me.”

 

He readjusted himself, crossing his arms over his chest. She dropped the chain back under her collar, tearing her eyes away from the sky.

 

He watched her from the corner of his eye. Her eyes traced his face, coming to rest on his eyes.

 

“John.” It was still foreign on her tongue.

 

“What’s up?” he tilted his head to meet her eyes.

 

There was very little space between them. The sounds of _Easy Living_ played in the background, and she allowed herself the small joy of kissing him.

 

His lips were… indescribable. He moved a hand to the back of her head, pulling her toward him. It had been too long for both of them, and their hands and mouths were frantic, trying to touch and taste everything at once.

 

The velvet of his coat was soft, as her hands tugged at the lapels, pulling the coat open while he shrugged the sleeves off, and tossed it forward. His hands were on her hips, steering her into the lighthouse. Clumsy fingers fumbled with zippers, buttons, clasps, each peeling the layers of clothing and letting them fall where they would.

 

His mouth was on her neck, sucking and biting at the tender flesh. She wrapped her arms around his ravaged shoulders, finding his mouth again. He moved them to the far side of the lighthouse, pinning her against the curve of the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist in anticipation.

 

Both were practically panting with desire, and he moved a hand to her breasts, cupping, squeezing, flicking and pinching. She dropped her hand, maneuvering him to just outside the soft pink folds.

 

“Are you sure?” he was rasping in her ear, and she could do nothing but nod.

 

He slid her ass towards him, thrusting up. The feeling exploded through her body, and she writhed, helping him get a rhythm down and burying her face in his shoulder. She felt him tug at her hair, looking for her mouth. Tongues tangled, bodies writhing, they came together, the frantic need overwhelming them both.

 

The Ghouls knees had practically buckled, and he slid her down the wall until her feet touched concrete. She leaned up, leaving a trail of soft kisses over his face. He kissed her mouth and pulled back, setting his index finger against them.

 

“Gimme minute.” He was still catching his breath, and she watched his eyes scanning the floor. He spotted the telltale red coat, and pulled it up from the floor, shaking the loose sand out of the fabric folds. He stepped into his pants, pulling them up awkwardly with on hand, and approaching her. He wrapped the coat around her shoulders, gathering her previously naked body in his arms rocking slowly back and forth.

 

“Is that what you meant by _act on_?” she met his gaze with a smirk, and desire bloomed in his chest again.

 

He snaked an arm inside the coat, running a hand over her back gingerly, kissing her forehead, at a loss for words.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Still floored that I wrote that last scene, but I thought it worked in the context.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Emperor's (Mayor's) new clothes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423204) by [Doktor- Marceline (Kenokosan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenokosan/pseuds/Doktor-%20Marceline)




End file.
